Mister Soul
by the-nerd-word
Summary: A requested conversation between Deimos and his new sparring partner.


Notes:

Soul Patch Guy can be found on a Chapter 3, Page 7 of HamletMachine's Starfighter comic.

I was asked to write about a conversation between Deimos and a non-canon, heavily flirtatious new guy who is "cool like a bag of kittens and crazy like Captain Jack Sparrow." I'm not sure if my measly writing can live up to that, but I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Alright, men," Encke bellowed, voice rich and authoritative as it carried across the large training room, "pair up and work on the exercises you were just shown. Keep your stances light, and no funny business. You don't have time for broken bones. Wait, Reliant, not this time. You two need to learn how to play with others."

Cain took a step away from Deimos and scowled, jaw tight but eyes on the ground lest Encke decided he needed to run a few extra laps. Again.

Encke pointed briefly at Deimos. "You, team up with the Thrasos fighter. Reliant, work with Tiberius."

Cain immediately gave an outraged squawk, but the strangled noise Praxis made wasn't much classier. Stepping out of the way of their matching glares, Deimos gave a little sigh and looked up at his new partner approached. The man was colonial born like so many of the others, with lightly bronzed skin and dark eyes, the right decorated with a diagonal scar. He was fit but not thick, a little more muscular than Cain but not any taller. And his chin sported, of all things, a soul patch. The Starfleet Alliance was really getting slack in their dress code inspections, not that Deimos minded. The Thrasos fighter was moderately attractive, but Deimos' gaze kept returning to that soul patch; he couldn't decide if he hated it or not.

The fighter held out a hand. "I'm Caccia," he said with a cool smile.

Deimos gave a curt nod and shook his hand, feeling callouses in Caccia's sure grip. "Deimos," he offered quietly.

"Well, Deimos," he asked, "you want offense or defense first?"

"Offense."

Caccia's smile widened, but his expression remained smoothly collected. "Aggressive. I like that."

Deimos kept his own features under control, refusing the frown that threatened to show. Without another word, he took the stance Encke had coached them on; when Caccio did the same, Deimos threw a punch. The Thrasos fighter blocked and stepped to the side, which prompted Deimos to follow, adjusting his shoulders to add a jab, hips swaying with the movement.

"You're a great dancer," Caccia remarked as he blocked once more, his smile lascivious. "Does this transfer off the training floor? Because I'd love to tap dance after we're done here."

Deimos' eyes narrowed, and he quickened his pace, adding more force to his strikes. Caccia met him stride for stride, meeting each attack with the appropriate defense, that smile ever-present. When things began to fall back into a steady (if faster) routine, Deimos heard Encke begin to berate Cain for being purposely violent and spiteful. Taking the slim opportunity, Deimos suddenly dropped to one foot and swept out Caccia's legs with a swift, practiced kick.

Caccia showed a moment of surprise before he fell on his back, a distinct _oomph_ betraying the force of the fall even as his hands went to his chest. Deimos stood over the fighter a little longer than necessarily, expression dangerously still as he watched Caccia struggle to catch the breath he had lost. Then Deimos extended his hand in the same fashion Caccia had begun their introduction, careful to keep his gaze locked and cold, letting the kick and his silence speak as warning against further unwanted insinuations.

But when Caccia took his hand, the fighter only took a shuddering breath and laughed. "_Not_ very friendly, are you?" He stood and brushed off his shirt and knees. "Well that's alright. Only means you've got character. A good thing to have!"

Deimos watched him warily. "You're-" He paused to find the right word. "Enthusiastic," he finally said.

"Thank you," Caccia beamed.

"It wasn't a compliment."

"Could be, though."

"But-"

"Have you ever been on a catamaran, Deimos?"

Deimos mentally backtracked, trying to find some way this related to anything. "A... boat? No."

"Not just a boat," Caccia assured him, gesturing widely with hand motions. "A _catamaran_."

When Deimos continued to stare blankly, Caccia whistled. "Good way to catch some sun, hit the water. Bet you'd look great in swim trunks." He winked.

Deimos wondered what he had done to piss Encke off to be paired with this guy before he belatedly replied, "We should get back to forms. I'll defend."

"First thing I'm going to do when I get back home is find myself a catamaran and some rum." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Deimos cringed at the thought of touching that soul patch. "Maybe a pretty girl and boy or two."

"I really think we should-"

"I know, I know." Caccia held up his hands before taking an offensive stance. "I want to dance, too, baby."

This time, Deimos couldn't hold back his sigh. "We're not dancing."

"Thrasos! Regolith!" Encke shouted, suddenly very loud and very _in front of them_. Over Encke's shoulder, Deimos could see Cain snickering. "The hell is this? Get back to training or I'll have you on kitchen duty for the next week!"

"Sir!" they replied in unison.

When Encke moved on, Deimos couldn't help the small glare that he turned on Caccia. "Enough," he said sharply, exasperated.

Caccia had the gall to look surprised. "What do you mean? I've been waiting on you."

"You..."

"Caccia," he offered with his most dazzling smile.

Deimos had never wanted to be hit by an asteroid more than he did in that moment.

He decided that he did, in fact, hate soul patches.


End file.
